


The Moon and Mark: Forever

by herxndale



Category: Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:47:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7551865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herxndale/pseuds/herxndale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Mark Blackthorn One Shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon and Mark: Forever

The moon liked to watch Mark Blackthorn.

It wasn’t creepy, she reasoned, because she was the moon, and the moon could watch anyone she wanted to watch. But whether or not this was true, the moon watched Mark Blackthorn, and when the sun rose, she counted down the minutes until she would see him again.

Every night, the eldest of the Blackthorn children would climb up the stairs to the roof of the Los Angeles Institute, where he’d simply sit there and think. What he was thinking, the moon did not know, but she could see the thoughts swirling in his mismatched eyes.

Oh, how the moon loved to stare into those eyes. One was a gorgeous shade of blue-green, the very same shade as the ocean when the light shone through it, causing the waves to glitter. It was the customary Blackthorn eyecolor, the one that every Blackthorn claimed their own. The other of Mark’s eyes was perfectly golden, and gleamed in a way that was undeniably inhuman. It was remarkable, the moon, who had no eyes, thought; one eye tied him to his family, to the Nephilim, and the other kept him chained to Faerie.

_What a burden those eyes must be_ , the moon found herself musing one night, as Mark sat with his slender face turned up toward the sky. _To wake up each morning with the weight of two worlds upon each shoulder must be tiresome._

And it was. His eyes _were_ a burden, and his shoulders did ache. But Mark tried his best to never reveal such things to anyone but the moon and stars, and the infinite sea that stretched at his feet.

The moon saw his pain and his sorrows, but she could not speak soft words to sooth him, could not reach out with hands of comfort. All she could do was burn her brightest, hoping to light the path for a lonely, lost boy, whose feet had much more ground to cover before his journey’s end.

Sometimes, people would join Mark on the roof. Sometimes it was fiery Emma Carstairs, all blunt truths and blonde hair; or maybe it was Christina Rosales, gentle and kind, always considerate of her actions and words. More often it was Kieran, and when he appeared, the moon averted her gaze.

Though Mark did have visitors, it was obvious that he was still heart wrenchingly alone. The moon felt that if she could, she would weep for him, and she would weep rivers down upon the earth until she had no more tears. It was a depressing sight from the moon’s perspective, to see the crumpled boy so alone, and scared, and hurt. He was like a wilted silver flower, its petals dying but its stem still forcing it to stand straight.

***

_O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,_  
_That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!_  
_Thou art the ruins of the noblest man_  
_That ever lived in the tide of times._  
_Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood_

(Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare)


End file.
